Reminiscing
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Thanksgiving with the Allens, and Andy is a surprise guest. Best not let anybody know that he's the BF of their son. .:. Christmas Eve, and Ben and Jess are alone together to spend it. They look back at part of their childhood. .:. a 'LHII' story.
1. Part I

**A/N: Hurray, I'm getting around to writing this! It's a somewhat lengthy twoshot that works for these purposes: How Wes and Ben used to act as kids and how Ben and Jessica got together, as well as show their personalities/relationship. …And to throw in even more fluff. In this case, more WesXAndy, as well as some BenXJess and brotherly!Wes/Ben plus sibling-like!Wes/Jess (LoL that sounds funny). **

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Part I

* * *

_During Thanksgiving break, Wes's junior year and Andy's freshman year of college:_

"Ben!" Wes greets warmly. He leans forward and gives his younger brother a tight hug. "I haven't seen 'r heard from you in months; what've you been up to?"

"College, 'f course," Benjamin chuckles. "What else?"

"Ya could've called, at least," Wes scolds. "I missed you. Yer my brother, but yer also my best friend."

The younger sibling nods apologetically. "Yeah, I'm sorry 'bout that. I've been busy."

Wesley cocks an eyebrow. "Too busy t' call yer brother 'n' say hello? I'm hurt," and he places a hand over his chest to mock being wounded.

Ben laughs again and shakes his head. "Sorry, but my classes have been… well, like goin' through an asteroid belt! It's been awful. Jessica's been a sweetheart through it, though; she's been like my own little cheerleader."

"That's so sweet. But y'know, I jus' got my own cheerleader to help me through, an' I want you 'n' our folks to meet him. Think it was stupid of me to bring him home with me?"

"That sounds reasonable – Wait! He's with you right now? Here?" Benjamin sputters, the words finally reaching his brain properly. He does a double take behind Wesley at his car. Sure enough, there is a vague figure shaking anxiously (most likely bouncing his foot) within. "Well, damn! Yes, I think it was stupid of ya! Did you even tell Ma and Pa 'bout him beforehand?"

"I don't mean to sound like Jess, but _duh, _'course I did. What, didn't think I would? I always tell them 'bout who I'm datin'."

"Yeah, but…"

"It'll be fine," Wes consoles his brother. "I always make sure that my plans work out."

"For yer sake, I hope they do."

xXxXx

_That evening, once the parents get home from work:_

"Ma, Pop… I'd like t' introduce you to a real sweet guy: Andy Davis," Wesley says proudly, as if he were showing off a trophy he won. And in a bizarre way, that's precisely what he's doing.

Andy, on the other hand, is fidgeting uncomfortably with embarrassment. He can tell by the look in Wesley's father's eyes that he doesn't normally approve of homosexuality, but seems to make an exception in his son's case.

The father of his boyfriend sticks out his hand awkwardly, and waits for Andy to shake it. The young brunet does so, albeit weakly. "N-nice to meet you, Mr. Allen," Andy says.

"Likewise," the man retorts curtly.

"Will he be staying with us, Wessie?" Wesley's mother asks politely. She's smiling sweetly, and seems not to care that Andy is her son's _male_ partner. Instead, she seems happy to have her son home, and glad for the company. Aside from this, Andy catches two things: the adorably endearing nickname (secretly planning to use it against Wes later on) and the fact that the woman, unlike her family, is missing a southern accent. She bears a Midwestern one instead.

"Well, I was going to help him pay for a hotel so that he doesn't burden you, Ma –" Wes begins meekly. He's rubbing his neck and adverting his eyes, as if afraid of something. Probably what his father might say, if Andy stays.

"Oh, nonsense! Let him stay here with us; it's no trouble. I'll even cook him good, homemade meals until he goes back, so that when he does, he'll have more meat on his bones. Honestly, Andy! Don't you have _any _muscle?" and she giggles, playfully pushing the sandy brunet.

Andy doesn't say anything. He glances quickly as Wesley's face, then at Mr. Allen. The middle-aged man sighs through his nose, as if giving up. He shrugs, turns, and then leaves. Wesley looks pink. "Ma, maybe –"

"Oh, I know you're worried about your father, but he won't care as long as you two sleep in separate rooms." She smiles, and doesn't miss the way Andy flushes a deep crimson at the thought of sleeping close to Wes. Meanwhile, she smiles at her son and pats him comfortingly on the shoulder. "I wish you would have given me a little notice though, Wessie. Because, um," she pauses, hesitating. "I seem to have… er… invited Sally to Thanksgiving dinner."

"Oh, no," Wesley groans. "Not Sally Peep…"

"Why? Who is she?" Andy questions, tilting his head as a confused expression flickers across his face.

"My…" Wes sighs, hanging his head in shame, "Ex-girlfriend."

Andy permits the words to slither in through his ears and sink into his brain. As his brain comprehends them, he bursts out, "Wait, what? _Girl_friend?"

"_Ex,"_ the chocolate brunet stresses tensely.

"We'll leave you two alone," Mrs. Allen says all-too-brightly. "I know that you'll want him to explain himself, Andy-dear."

"Damn right!" the sandy brunet remarks under his breath.

"Come on, Benny, and you, too, Christopher," Mrs. Allen says, addressing her son and husband. "Help me fix dinner while these two chat."

As soon as his family is gone, Wesley scrapes his nails over his scalp, his hand running quickly and sharply through his hair. He sighs again, and watches as Andy crosses his arms over his chest indignantly. If he weren't angry with Wes, he rancher would find it adorable.

"It was… durin' my freshman through junior years of high school when I dated her," the older college boy begins to explain. "She came to my junior high in my seventh grade year, and stuck to me. She was… a very _forceful _girl. She told me that she had a crush on me, an' flirted with me a lot. She had this way of… hookin' me and reelin' me in with her stares, hands, arms, feet, _anything._ And I guess I kinda liked the abuse; it was aggressive, like how a guy might act. But I didn't know that then. It wasn't until she forced me t' homecoming our freshman year that we started t' go out. And it wasn't until my junior year that I figured out that I didn't love her like she loved me." He pauses. "And it wasn't a great deal lat'r when I was a senior that I realized I was gay."

Andy slowly uncrosses his arms and lowers them. He blinks his sky blue eyes at his boyfriend. "And then… you met me."

"Yeah."

Andy nods. "I see." He smiles, something a little dark and jealous flickering momentarily across his features. "So I've got no worries, then. She doesn't mean anything to you _in that way._"

Wesley laughs, albeit nervously. "Yeah. 'Xactly."

"_Good._"

xXxXx

_Thanksgiving Day:_

Two days pass, and the Thursday of giving thanks arrives. Everyone in the Allen family (the missus refused to let Andy help, since he's a guest) scrambled about the kitchen to get all of the food prepared, or, if it had been done the night before, heated. They worked themselves into a frenzy, when finally all of the dishes were set up on the table.

Andy surveys the driveway, watching as a few people arrive. He can smell the aromas of pumpkin, golden and sweet potato, garlic, rosemary, turkey, and asparagus. There are other scents, too, but the stronger ones mask them. He licks his lips, salivating already. He can almost taste the flavors of each one.…

"Hungry yet?" Wesley teases as he places a hand on Andy's shoulder. The younger is about to smile, but he notices that his boyfriend is shaking.

"Wes?" Andy asks, voice laced with concern. He partially turns in his chair by the window and touches one hand to Wesley's. "Are you… nervous?"

"Heh, a little," Wes smiles edgily. One facial muscle twitches. "It's jus' never comfert'ble t' have one's ex and current… _partner…_ in the same room, let alone havin' dinner together. And it ain't any help when one's super-Catholic grandmother jus' happ'ns to be comin' too, on such short notice!" His voice is raising an octave or two, and he isn't looking at Andy any longer. "So yeah, I'm a little nervous. Jus' a LITTLE."

"Wesley!" Andy says with a reassuring smile, leaping up to clap his cupped hands around his boyfriend's face. "Chill out! Seriously. Everything will be all right, okay? I promise."

"How can you be so sure?" Wesley replies in a hushed voice, trying to remain easygoing and shake off his mini freak-out.

"Because," Andy answers as he releases the older boy's face, "I'm good at handling people."

"Gee, that's a _huge_ help."

"Shut up, it actually is. So act natural, and let me do a lot of the talking. If I get put on the spot, I won't lie; I'll tell a soft version of the truth. I have an awesome imagination, remember? I'll come up with something. So don't fret over Sally and your grandma, okay?" Andy says sternly, his blue eyes understanding.

Wesley takes a deep, lengthy breath. He blinks his watery brown eyes to make them appear usual. "Yeah, okay. I trust you, Andy."

"There we go," Andy comments airily, "Back to normal."

xXxXx

_That night:_

All of the guests huddle around the long dinning table. Everything is set; plates, golden silverware, cloth napkins, glasses, and placemats. The food is waiting on the counter to be served buffet-style, and the table itself is cloaked in a cream tablecloth, and sprinkled with confetti in the shake of pumpkins and various autumn-colored leaves (despite the lack of such trees nearby). Cinnamon candles, tall and elegant, stand in southwestern-style candleholders at the center of the table.

And all of the guests are bringing their hands in front of them to say grace, giving thanks to God, like the Catholic grandmother insists.

Once everyone is seated, they go around the table stating what is it they are thankful for, as per tradition in this family.

The head of the table, Mr. Allen, begins the chain. "I'm thankful that all 'f us can be together this holiday, includin' my eldest son, who prev'sly attended school up north. So, Wes, I'd jus' like to say that I'm glad ya could make it down here."

Wesley smiles in his father's direction. Under the table, Andy warmly slides his hand into Wesley's, and gives it a cheerful squeeze.

The chain moves clockwise around the table, linking next to Mrs. Allen. "I am thankful that all my favorite people can be here to eat with me! Like Benny and Jess, and my mother, and Chris's sister, Charlotte, as well as Wessie and his sweet new…" But she hesitates, and finally says, "Friend. But I especially love having Sally and Great Uncle George here."

Great Uncle George is Wes's father's uncle, the man who practically raised Mr. Christopher Allen. He's the one who taught Wesley how to be a rancher, and he's the one who gave Benjamin his most prized possession: his NASA wristwatch, high-tech and space-agey, straight from George's station at the center in Houston. In Andy's eyes, the entire Allen family legacy lies within one man; this man, Uncle George.

"It's great to be here, Mrs. Allen," Sally smiles sweetly. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and her bangs are curled perfectly above her arched brows. Her mascara is not too thick nor too thin, and it makes her lashes seem a long and luscious as a porcelain doll's, just like her flawless milky skin where it shows underneath her rosy pink dress decorated in cloth roses at her waistline.

She's beautiful. She reminds Andy a bit of Molly's old Little Bo Peep lamp that his mother sold in a yard sale years ago. But her sparkling blue eyes are dazzling, _And_, Andy thinks_, it's no wonder Wesley dated her; supposed "forceful nature" or not._

A twinge of the green-eyed monster strikes Andy's heart again, but he knows deep down that this is the sort of girl who wouldn't do anything beyond kissing until marriage, and probably is over Wes by now.

Andy can only hope.

To Mrs. Allen's left, Benjamin says his thanks next. "Um," he starts, blushing slightly, "I'm… not really thankful for much, jus'… jus' havin' Jessie as my girlfriend for so long. Ever since Spanish class, our sophomore year of high school…"

"Oh yeah, I remember that!" The cheery redhead chimes in, all bubbles in soda pop. She giggles. "Shee-yoot, I remember how scared you were, Ben. You liked me all those years and I never had a clue, but then you gathered up your courage when we were learning how to salsa dance in Spanish II and asked me to dance! It was so cute, ya'll shouldda seen it. He used his best Spanish on me, got down on one knee, and asked my hand in a dance. Now, if that wasn't the sweetest darn thing I ever seen, I dunno what was!" she gushes, and twirls one of her flaming orange pigtail braids.

"Yeah, well." Benjamin coughs into one hand, beneath his scratchy goatee. "Can we jus' move on? It's your turn, Jess'ca."

"Oh! Right!" She laughs. "Well… I 'ppose I'm thankful fer you, Ben. Oh! And pum'kin pie. I love me that pumpkin pie." And she laughs again, just a saucy ball of rubber, bouncing off the walls with joy. Andy immediately likes her.

After Jessica, it's Wesley's turn. He doesn't want to sound mushy or romantic, but he _is _rather grateful that he met Andy this school year. But he doesn't want to say that out loud, with his great uncle and grandmother in the room! They don't know that Andy is his boyfriend, and it would just be… _awkward._

Sighing discreetly, Wes says with a forced smile: "I'm grateful fer making it into the university. I didn't think I would!"

"Oh, of course you would have; no matter what," Grandma Shirley remarks with a sweet grin. "You're a very clever boy, Wesley. You always got good grades in school."

"Yeah, in wood and metal shop classes," Wes retorts a tad bitterly. He shrugs. "And in math. But I was horr'ble in my readin' 'n' writin' classes, and I never did any good in history. That is, 'less it was 'bout the west, since, y'know, I grew up here 'n' all."

"That may be true, but your less-than-perfect grades in those classes weren't so bad! B's and C's, if I remember correctly. And B's and C's are passing grades, honey," his grandmother reminds him.

Wesley laughs meekly. "Yeah, well. I jus' didn't feel good 'nough. But I'm glad that they 'ccepted me." And he grins broadly, flashing his teeth mainly at Andy.

Lightly flushed, it's Andy's turn to say something. "Uh. Well… I guess… I'm really grateful that I met Wesley, or else I wouldn't even be here with everybody! And you're all such wonderful people."

"Oh, thank you, Andy. You're a peach," Mrs. Allen smiles over her wine glass. "And what about you, Sally-dear? What are you grateful for?"

"My siblings. They're not here right now, but I babysit them every day and I love them to pieces," the blonde teen states lovingly. "I have three of them that I watch over. Mom calls them our little lambs, and it's true. They're triplets, you see. Four years old."

"Good grief, that's quite an age difference! Aren't you least twen'y by now?" Uncle George exclaims.

Sally nod sheepishly. "Yes, but my mother had me when she was twenty herself, back when we lived in North Carolina. She's only forty-four now, which is not too terribly old to be having children. A little late, perhaps, but not unheard of." She smiles gently, her cheeks tingeing pink. "Now, you won't see _me _having kids so early or so late, however. I wouldn't make that mistake!" And she giggles, her laughter like tinkling bells.

"What a story," Uncle George chuckles heartily, his grayed beard dusting his chest as he bows his head. "But in my day, that was normal. In this day an' age, it's surprisin' to find."

Sally smiles, and nudges the old man. "Now, now, sir, I do believe that it's your turn." And there it is: Andy hears the edge in her voice, a hint of the forcefulness Wesley mentioned to him beforehand. He blinks once or twice, watching as the old man takes the hint and clears his throat.

"Tarnation, what is there in this wide world for me _not _to be grateful for? I have so much! I'm grateful for my family, all these friendly young folk with us, and all this delicious food! Tell me, on a beaut'ful day like today, what do I got to be ungrateful for?" Great Uncle George says proudly, his chest puffing out with glee.

"You can be ungrateful for belts," Andy says, warming up to a joke, "Because they restrict us from gorging ourselves to our heart's content."

It takes but a millisecond before Uncle George is a barrel full of wheezy, affectionate laughter. "Too true, too true! I always have to loosen it a couple notches, and I feel so guil'y for doin' it!"

Everyone is laughing now, and soon, the chain is falling on the last person, Aunt Charlotte, Mr. Allen's sister. She frowns for a moment, waiting for peace to speak. As soon as the laughing dulls, she snaps with a false pout, "Well I'm just grateful that this is over now, so that I can eat."

And the laughter goes around all over again.

xXxXx

_After dinner:_

"The food was amazing, Mrs. Allen," Andy compliments around a lick at his lips, still spicy-sweet with the lingering taste of mashed sweet potatoes with mini-marshmallows melted on top. "I'm stuffed like that turkey!"

"That's how it's supposed to be on Thanksgiving," the woman replies as she tosses the leftovers onto her refrigerator shelves. She clicks the last lid of Tupperware and wipes a dribble of sweat form her brow. "Whew! Thanks for cleaning up, Wessie, Benny. You know, even your fantastic your mom still needs help sometimes!"

"Don't talk in third person, hon, it isn't becoming," Grandma Shirley adds as she steps out of the room. "The only people who do that are either crazy, royal, or conceited."

"Duly noted," Mrs. Allen chuckles as she swipes a stray splatter of gravy off of her finger with her tongue. She glances at her guests in the living room a couple feet away. "Anybody want some after-dinner coffee?"

"We're fine, thanks," comes a chorus of about two-or-so people.

"Alright. Well, then, the kitchen is officially closed! Time for me to lounge on my bum and socialize," Wesley's mother says with a smile as she plops down in one of the empty chairs in the living room.

Wesley subtly touches Andy's hand. "Want t' slip away for a while? I feel Sally sending me glares, and it's unnerving."

"Sure," the sandy brunet nods in understanding. "Where to?"

"Bullseye," Wes grins, naming his black and brown 4X4 truck. "We can lay in his truck bed and lookit the stars. You can see 'em real well out here in Nowhere Land."

Grinning, Andy nods thrice over. "You can count me in, then! The stars are always so vague near the cities up north… and the sky looks so much wider out here, too."

And so they leave, disappearing out into the chilly desert night, Wesley's arms draped casually around Andy's shoulders to keep him warm, like a blanket.


	2. Part II

Part II

* * *

_During Christmas break, Benjamin's freshman year and Jessica's sophomore year of college:_

"Remind me 'gain, where's Wesley this Christmas?" Jessica sighs, her toe digging into the base of a dead cactus. "It's not the same without him."

Benjamin flicks the redhead's shoulder lightly. "Told you: he decided to stay up north t' meet his boyfriend's parents and whatnot. Ya know, like Andy did when he came down here t' meet us."

"Oh, right," Jessica remarks idly. She sighs again. "It's just… I miss him. I haven't gotten much time to see him since he graduated, you know? And he's, like, my BFF!"

Ben chuckles. "I know, Jess, I know. You're stuck to him like a cactus needle in a hare's foot. But you gotta know when to open yerself up and invite others in to be yer friend."

She smiles, her freckles wrinkling under her eyes. "You're right, Benny-boy; I should learn t' open up more." And she leans forward, her arms spreading wide. "Well?" she asks, "I'm open. Aren't ya gonna invite yourself in?"

Smiling, blushing, Benjamin takes her invitation. Ever since that fateful day in Spanish One class – a blend of freshman and sophomores, music, and brief salsa lessons – Jessica finally realized that Benjamin liked her, and she's been flirty with him ever since. Alluringly so, accidentally so, naturally so. It's endearing and annoying at the same time, if only because Ben isn't used to being flattered and doesn't care much for being embarrassed. But he's a little used to it by now.

It's odd, how they fit together: Jessica, tall and built like a model (of which she was offered to be, but declined due to her tomboy tendencies), curvy in the right ways with hips and average-sized breasts, but thin and lean with muscle from taking care of horses all her life. And there there's Ben, short and stocky, built like a football player (of which he happily was, for a long while), and a little soft in the stomach area like a lining of cushion, but firm and muscular in his upper torso and arms, broad-shouldered since puberty.

At a distance, Jess towers over Ben in height and he outweighs her by more than thirty pounds, but when they are together like this… they couldn't be better suited for each other. She fits like a puzzle piece in his arms, and his head rests comfortably on her collarbone.

"You big lug," she teases softly, running her hands through his short, nearly-a-buzz-cut espresso spikes. "I know ya get jealous of how close me 'n' Wes are, but you gotta remember, I've known the two of you forever, but he's not the one I love."

Benjamin smiles and pulls out of the embrace enough to look her in the eyes. Her large, grassy-green eyes. "I know, Jess."

She winks at him and taps his nose with her fingertip. "Silly." She steps back and clasps her hands behind her back, beginning to rock to and fro on her cowgirl boot heels. "So! What did ya get me fer Jesus's birthday?"

"Why can't you say, 'Christmas' like normal people?" Ben laughs. "That just sounds strange."

"What? It's true! Jesus was born a week from yesterday. Er, I mean, he was born next… gah! You know that I mean," she shrugs. She pounces on his shoulders, bouncing up and down. "So what'd ya get me? Huh, huh?"

"Not tellin'," Benjamin retorts. "You know bett'r. I ain't tellin' ya. You'll jus' have to wait 'til Christmas day like every other decent person in America."

"Aww…" Jessica pouts, her hands slipping from his shoulders and falling limply at her sides. She folds her arms over her chest in disappointment. "Yer no fun, Benny. I bet I couldda gotten Wesley t' tell me."

"Yeah, well, I'm not my brother; you ain't getting' nothin' outta me." He fake-zippers the seam of his mouth. "My lips are sealed," he half-hums, half-says.

"Fine!" Jessica replies sourly, "Then mine are, too! I won't kiss you 'til you give me my present, or at least tell it to me!"

Benjamin looks horrified. "You wouldn't."

"I would," she assures with a smirk. "I'll keep all my juicy kisses to myself, 'nless you tell me what ya got me."

"…You're a crafty little wench."

"Damn straight, buckaroo."

xXxXx

_Christmas Eve:_

The redhead leans back on her palms and crosses her long, slim legs in front of her at the ankles. She tilts her head to the left, then the right. Finally, she lays backward and rests her flowing orange-red hair on the bed, her eyes captivated by the intricate painting of the Milky Way Galaxy on the ceiling.

"Y'know, Ben, I've always admired yer ma's handiwork. She's a fantastic artist."

The wannabe astronaut nods and takes a seat at the edge of his bed, his own chin lifting to let him peer up at the just-about-flawless representation of the night sky. "I fig'r'd you did. After all, you had her paint on the wall behind yer bed after yer mom left."

Jessica involuntarily shudders, some of her abandonment issues daring to rise up again. She swallows them down, trying to calm her suddenly quickening heartbeat. "Ye-yeah," she stutters, forcing a smile. "That is a beautiful piece of artwork, too. All green pastures and flowers and cute little bunnies and fawn." She smiles genuinely now. "When I was little, that painting was my 'happy place.' I used to pretend I was under the big oak in the center, playing with its acorns and feeding the little critters licks of the PB 'n' J sammiches I used to sneak into my room." She glances over at Benjamin. "Remember those days, Benny? Days full of Buzz Lightyear action figures for you, and Barbie dolls for me, and cowboys and in'juns for Wes."

"Yeah…" Benjamin says dreamily, memories fogging up the front of his brain. "That was lotsa fun, back then. We were so happy; an unbreakable trio, from preschool 'til fifth grade."

"Mmhmm," the redhead agrees distantly, nostalgia beginning to take her away as well. "We drifted a li'l in middle school, though. But before then, the times were so lovely. I 'member Christmas Eves like this one, 'cept all of us were sleeping on the floor downstairs, falling asleep while tryin' to listen fer Santy Clause's footsteps by the tree upstairs." She laughs. "And we almost had the red fat man, once. We heard bells and boots."

. . .

_"Wes, Wes! Do you hear him?" Jessie whispered excitedly. "I think I hear him! – Hurry, wake up Ben! He's gotta hear this!"_

_"Ben, get up!" a seven-year-old Wesley said eagerly, trying to shake his five-year-old brother awake. But the youngster was too tired from the church service earlier that evening to be bothered by anything except his dreams of dancing sugarplums, like the song says._

_Sighing, Wes shook his head, but scooted over to where his friend sat and listened along with her. She looked dim in the light of the miniature false pine tree that acted as their nightlight. "He won't get up."_

"_Well, he's gonna miss it, then," six-year-old Jessica replied stubbornly. She grinned and snuck towards the stairs. "Should we go for a peek? Just a small one?"_

"_No! It's bad luck to see Santa," Wes answered nervously. He tugged on his retro Sheriff Woody pajamas. "What if he gives you coal for –"_

"_Bah, he won't catch me," the perky redhead whispered back, still grinning. "But if you won't come with me," she relented and sat back down on the floor in her Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag, "Then I won't go. I dun want to be alone!"_

_Wesley nodded, understanding. He slid under his sleeping bag and blinked up at the colorfully glowing ceiling, alit by reflected Christmas lights. "Ever heard of a Christmas Wish, Jessie?"_

_Jessica shook her head as she laid on one side, head propped up by her hand, hand by her elbow, elbow by her pillow. "No. What issit?"_

"'_Xactly how it sounds," the brunet explained tiredly. He yawned, "You make a wish a'fore Christmas Day comes, right on the night before, and it usually comes true."_

"_What did you wish for last year?" she asked, searching for ideas._

"_A new bike. And the year before, a new colt."_

_Jessica's eyes began to water, and she tried to wipe her tear away. "Do… d'ya think… if I wished for my mommy to come back, she will?"_

_Wesley stiffened, even as a child knowing that this was a sensitive topic for Jessica. He sat up and crawled, sleeping bag still around him, over to her. He wrapped his arms around her frail shoulders. "Shh, don't cry, Jess."_

"'_M'sorry, but… I wish it so much sometimes…" she blubbers quietly. "Why did her and Daddy have t' get a dee-borce?"_

"_Divorce is stupid," Wes hissed coldly. He hated it, even if it had never happened to him. But he knew that it was bad, because it hurt Jessica and made mommies leave. "But Ben 'n' I are your friends, so you can be safe with us. We love you."_

_Sniffling, she nodded against Wesley's chest. "I know," she replied with a wavering voice. "And I lub you two, too." And more tears came, but no more sobs. She simply cried, and Wes's feet were feeling tingly from lack of blood flow, but he didn't want to leave someone who needed him._

"_Make a wish, Jessica. Christmas is magical, y'know."_

"'_Kay," she sniffled one last time. Pulling away, she smiled and looked over her shoulder at the North Star. In her head, she said to the star that guided the Wise Men to baby Jesus, _Please, let Wesley and Benjamin and me be friends forever. I wish for us to stay friends forever, together always.

_And so far, the Star has granted her wish._


End file.
